


Two Silhouettes in a Waltz

by crimsonwinter



Series: Jolto Poetry [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jolto, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These men, who I have desperately loved, surge in and out of my life like two silhouettes in a waltz</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Silhouettes in a Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> jolto poetry part 2

I thought I’d never see him again. 

Inviting him to the wedding was more empty than risky, as I knew he wouldn’t show.

But he came, and he stood, and I saw him.

He was handsome, regal, and dressed like a major, but beneath the honorable badges, I saw only my friend.

My friend, my erotic adventure, and my secret.

He looked sad, but I was drawn to him, so I went to him.

Pushing past my best friend, the useless guests, and my wife, I joined him and safely fell out of the range of fire.

Electric, romantic, chemical fire.

If this had been then, not now, my hands might have easily found the flame, and my damp lips would have smothered it.

But it was not then, it was now, and I had to be formal.

Unfortunately, formalities are futile in the throws of a memory.

Looking up at him once more, I felt farther away from this life and these problems than I have for years, and the buzzing in my chest hummed louder as he spoke to me.

Aware that my best man and subject of my long-term affections was watching our interaction, I disregarded any sense of shame and fell hard into those steadfast eyes.

Calm. Familiar. Safe.

We exchanged pleasantries, probably, but my heart was racing and I can barely remember what I said.

The years between our meetings were ineffective: he and I were back in Afghanistan, drunk and dancing to the sound of the wind.

I wondered if I was swaying on the spot, but his eyes held on and promised me I was doing fine.

He said it was good to see me, and I him, but God, good just wasn’t enough.

Having him there, walking beside him, and catching his eye whenever I fancied was better than good, it was bloody incredible.

But it didn’t last, of course, because my life is infected with homicide; therefore, everyone I love has the virus as well.

We paced outside his room and screamed at him not to do it, not to kill himself on this day - the day of my marriage.

Anxious and angry, I shouted helplessly through the door that I couldn’t lose him again, perhaps in different words.

The major was stubborn and dramatic, akin to my best man, and he refused to receive medical attention.

The detective coaxed him, somehow, and when he agreed to treatment, my heart swelled for them both.

These men, who I have desperately loved, surge in and out of my life like two silhouettes in a waltz.

Moody, unsociable, and unbelievably hot, they make me question why I’d ever opt for civilian life.

Nevertheless, civilian life also calls for waltzes. 

Though, my new wife’s will never compare to that of the inebriated dance two soldiers fashioned, late at night, beside a dusty cot, only week or two before one of them was shot.


End file.
